


Writing I <3 You

by outerealm



Category: Avengers (2012)
Genre: Math, Writing, writing on bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outerealm/pseuds/outerealm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce writes equations onto Tony's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing I <3 You

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. Guys, thank you all for everything. And I just learned I have fanart here: http://piratesyebewarned.tumblr.com/post/28981188386/for-this-fic-writing-i-3-you-by-outerealm
> 
> Take a look! The drawing is absolutely gorgeous!

He had gotten used to having no paper. Paper was a rare and valuable commodity in third-world countries, especially money paper. Newspapers were used as caulk, plugging up holes, cardboard was used as walls and roofs, or if you were lucky to have scrap metal for that, used as makeshift mattresses.

Pens were rare enough as well- they were stolen from anywhere they could be taken, desperate people needing them to fill out job applications on the equally rare pieces of paper. Some even gave up what they could to pay others to read for them because they could not.

He was lucky enough to have a pen, and in lieu of a pen, sometimes a half-burnt stick would work. He scrawled complex equations that would take a normal computer hours to figure out in dirt floors, training his mind to not need a calculator. Calculators were too slow anyways.

Right now however he would give anything to have something to write on. Tony Stark, drugged unconscious, slept soundly, pulled close by a recently de-hulked Bruce Banner.

They were holed up in a ramshackle cabin, way out in the Canadian wilderness, waiting for the snowstorm to abate enough that S.H.I.E.L.D. could pick them up. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to remain calm. It had been bad enough to learn that Tony Stark, otherwise known as Iron Man, had been drugged and kidnapped- it had only gotten worse when some idiot brought out sonic weapons, making Hulk go totally berserk. Destruction, chaos, and in the end, Banner found himself with a lap of unconscious Stark out in the middle of nowhere, huddled around a fire for warmth.

He really, really needed to keep awake. Stark wouldn’t survive the night if the fire went out- Hulk would take over for Banner and the two would miserably survive for another day.

Fingers twitched in effort to restrain himself. He had a pen; as much good as it would do, in a place completely made of wood. The only writable material was Tony. And Tony was unconscious. Non-consensual writing would lead to many, many bad things.

So Bruce played with the pen instead, eyes tracing across arms. He could see it, the shift of muscles, delicate yet strong, the math equations spinning through his head to calculate how much power _[(MAC - pi x TSF)2/4 pi] – 10_ each muscle could take.

He didn’t notice the pen lightly skimming across skin, sketching in equations, calculating bone to muscle ratio, complex equations that detailed how each finger worked, spiraling slowly up to the arm onto shoulder blades. He wrote the ratio of freckles to pale skin, the distance between shoulder blades _the perfect ratio_ , counted each disk in the spine and traced it out in tiny formulas _how strong and perfect they were_ across the back and down the other arm calculating the resistance it took to fire repulsor beams.

He paused when his pen hit the edge of Tony’s pants, before skipping down further south, where the knees became exposed- one side for in the Iron man suit, the other, when he was normal, plain Stark. So far as Stark was normal- which he wasn't.

The winds slowly stopped howling, snow settling softly on the cabin. Bruce continued to write, pen skipping across the occasionally hairy surface, slowly, ever so slowly, working its way to the heart.

At least he paused around the shining, glowing, mechanical heart, pen paused for a second. What could he write here? How much energy it produced? The exact position over his heart? How may pieces of metal Tony was away from being dead?

 _Bu_ -bump.

Bu- _bump._

Bu-bump.

The sensation of a heart beating.

Silently he wrote in a memory, hidden within mathematics, of Tony standing out in the middle of the room, talking fast paced, as Natasha stared at him, and at one point Bruce touched Tony’s wrist, felt the pounding pulse. He had memorized it instantly. The equation was labeled _Natasha_

Then there was another memory, another time, of Thor standing on top of Stark Towers, head tilted to the wind, howling at the sky as thunder crashed in the background and rain poured down from above. Tony watched from the doorway, not looking away even as he threw a companionable arm around Bruce’s shoulders. The steady beat was written down as _Thor_

Clint and Tony, verbally sparring in the recroom, arguing over what movie to watch as Bruce watched on. Tony paused to squeeze his shoulder- beat memorized, written down as _Clint_

Steve and Tony, yelling and screaming at each other, set apart by a difference more then culture. Steve and Tony fighting side by side, covering each others backs without pausing and without a single missed beat, locked together in a fights. Pulse… not exactly known except through files Jarvis kept, but it was close enough. _Steve_

And then there was him.

Bruce Banner, the Hulk, Big Green Guy- whatever tickled Tony’s fancy that day. He didn’t know Tony’s pulse for that. He hesitated for a few moments, before slowly writing in, X=Banner.

He capped the pen, rocked back on his heels, and nearly panicked as he realized what he had just done.

\------------

Tony awoke to low voices, babbling in and on the edge of his consciousness, the snap of pictures taken. “Pictures cost money I hope you know.” He slurred out, forcing eyes open.

Clint grinned above him, cheekily holding his phone camera. “Not after you’ve seen these pictures. You’ll be paying me to delete them.”

“Says you. I look handsome no matter what.”

“Not when you look like someone’s thrown away math homework.”

Why would anyone throw away their math homework? Tony squinted at Clint, before pulling himself upright, lifting his arms.

Sure enough, scrawled in Bruce’s handwriting were math equations his fuzzy brain refused to click into place for a few moments. He stared at them, wiling them to fall into place, when it hit. “This is- my repulsor beams?”

Eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store, and eagerly he looked at his other arm. “You got good pictures, right Clint? These equations are pure gold, aww, look, he calculated the circumference of my pinky toe!”

He snatched the camera phone away from Clint, “He got my back as well, didn’t he? Let’s take a looksee shall we- look at that!” Tony grinned unabashedly at the fuzzy screen full of equations. “Where’s Jarvis? He’s gotta save these. In fact- I need a photographer- a real one. COULSON!”

The agent’s head stuck in around the door. “I need a photographer. Now! Chop-chop!” He flipped on to the next picture, and stopped for a few moments, staring closely at what was written on his chest. He peered down, but the awkward angle didn’t help much. So he looked closer at the pictures.

Then, his unabashed grin grew into a shark-infested waters grin. “Oh Bruce- Bruceee~ Mister big Green and Angry!”

Bruce cautiously poked around the corner, muttering, “I am not-“

Tony launched himself out of bed to hug the baffled scientist tightly, singing out for the entire ship to hear, “I love you too. Let’s get married and adopt.”

-end-


End file.
